Page 3 of For Fear

"Mueller is part of the game!" she spat, crossing her arms over her leather jacket. It felt like armor; it was all that stood between her and the raw vulnerability gnawing at her gut. "He has every reason to want me gone. What if he tips off Cordell?"

"If Mueller wanted you dead, why hasn’t he done it yet?"

"Maybe he’s just playing the long game." Morgan’s mind raced, conjuring up images of the FBI’s web of lies. All those years locked away, only to find that the very agency she hadtrusted had been her enemy. "What if he’s just waiting for the perfect moment to strike?"

"Or…" Derik paused, his voice steadying. "He could actually be on our side. Think about it, Morgan. If he really is corrupt, don’t you think he would’ve made his move when you were first out of prison? You can’t deny that he’s kept you alive so far. He’s kept you on, kept you working.”

"That doesn’t mean I trust him." Her voice came out sharper than intended, but the anger bubbling inside was righteous. She had spent ten years fighting against betrayal, and now, standing on the precipice of another one, she wasn’t keen on jumping in blind.

"Neither do I," Derik admitted, stepping closer, lowering his voice. "But we’re running out of options—fast. We just watched a man get shot, and you think keeping this under wraps is the answer? We need protection, and the only way to get it is by involving someone who has the resources to help us. More eyes on the situation means more chances to stay alive."

She hesitated. The thought of Thomas drifting, lifeless beneath the surface, twisted something inside her. “Fine,” she relented, though every fiber of her being protested. “But if this goes south, we bail. No second chances. We need to anonymously report the gunshot at the pier to the police now, so they can go find Thomas and gather evidence before someone tries to wipe it away.

"Agreed." Derik pulled out his phone, the glow illuminating his face, revealing the determination etched there. Morgan’s stomach knotted; she hated this feeling of helplessness, this reliance on someone else's judgment.

But Derik was right. Whoever had shot Thomas was clearly willing to go even further to silence him—and Morgan too. And now, that person had seen Derik was involved.

Maybe Mueller was the only one they could trust. Or maybe going to him would be the final nail in their coffin.

CHAPTER TWO

Inside Mueller’s house, the late-night silence felt heavy, like a thick wool blanket smothering her. Morgan sat on the plush couch, the cushions swallowing her whole. They had just laid out every detail of their night at the pier for the man they’d come to for help. She could still feel the adrenaline buzzing beneath her skin, a stark contrast to this domestic setting. It was absurd, really—Mueller in his cozy housecoat, looking like he’d just stepped out of a sitcom instead of a high-stakes conspiracy. The casualness of it all gnawed at her. How could he be so relaxed when Thomas Grady lay dead in a dark alley, and Cordell’s shadow loomed over them?

She glanced at Derik beside her, his profile taut with tension. His slicked-back hair glinted under the soft light, giving him an air of weariness that tugged at her heartstrings. He shot her a quick look, his green eyes flickering with unspoken questions. They were both strung tight, and she knew what he was thinking: how did they get here? Why had they decided to drag themselves into the lion's den, hoping for some scraps of support from someone like Mueller?

“Lucky us,” Mueller said, leaning forward. His mustache twitched, and he rubbed a hand over his gray hair, as if trying to comb away the weight of the situation. “My wife and kids are away for the week. If they were here… well, we couldn’t have this conversation.”

No shit, she thought. His voice was steady, but Morgan sensed the underlying current of unease. This wasn’t just a chat over coffee; they were tiptoeing through a minefield.

“You sure the police will collect the necessary evidence from the pier?” he asked, his gaze darting between her and Derik.“I mean, you didn’t draw too much attention to yourselves, did you?”

Derik leaned back, exuding a confidence that edged toward cocky. “We made the call anonymously, Mueller. They’ll find Thomas’s body. Trust me, the investigation will begin. There will be information ready by the morning.”

Morgan bit her tongue, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Trust, right. That word hung heavy in the air, taunting her. She had trusted once before, and it had cost her ten years of her life. She shifted slightly, the fabric of the couch clinging to her jeans, grounding her in the moment.

"Trust," she echoed, letting the word linger like smoke. She studied Mueller's face, searching for any sign of sincerity. But all she saw was a man caught in a web of bureaucracy, and she hated that she'd placed herself in this position—relying on someone who might very well be part of the problem.

"Do you really think they’re going to take this seriously?" Her voice was sharper than intended, slicing through the air. "A body at the pier isn’t exactly a routine Tuesday for the cops."

"Look, Morgan," Derik interjected, his tone soothing yet firm. "They’ll do their job. We know how these things work. You have to let them handle it."

"Handle it?" she scoffed. "You mean like they handled my case?"

"That’s enough!" Mueller cut in, his voice rising slightly. The room fell silent, the tension thickening like fog.

Morgan shifted in her seat, the plush couch beneath her feeling both foreign and suffocating. The shadows of Mueller’s living room seemed to close in as she stared at the man across from her. His housecoat hung loosely around him, a stark contrast to the sharp suits and polished shoes she usually saw him in—like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Was he really just anordinary guy hiding behind those comfortable threads? Or was this just another performance in a long line of deceit?

"Are you one of Cordell's men?" The words slipped out before she could temper them, cutting through the thick silence like a knife through flesh. The air crackled with tension. She felt the heat of Derik's gaze on her, but her focus remained locked on Mueller.

His eyes widened, a flash of surprise that only fueled her suspicion. He opened his mouth to respond, but it was like watching a poorly scripted play. “What? No, of course not! I’ve been doing my job. Nothing more. I’m a good director at the FBI.” His voice wavered ever so slightly, and she caught the defensiveness lurking just beneath the surface.

"Right," Morgan said, leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees, the weight of her conviction pressing against her chest like a caged animal. "And how do we know you're not just playing us? You worked with my father. Did you even know who he was?"

A thick silence enveloped the room. She could sense the shift in energy, a palpable unease settling over them. Mueller’s confusion morphed into something deeper, almost akin to fear. If he thought he could intimidate her by playing the innocent card, he had another thing coming.

"John Christopher," she spat out, letting the name linger like poison in the air between them.

Mueller’s expression shifted from surprise to disbelief, as if she’d thrown a glass of cold water in his face. She watched as he struggled to connect the dots, trying to reconcile the memories of a man he probably hadn’t thought about in years. But she didn’t give him time to catch his breath.

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